Chapter 7 - Cigarette Pants & Cigarette Fingers

I went to the concert and I fought through the crowd

Guess I got too excited when I thought you were around

- Heart In a Cage, The Strokes

BPOV

The month after Edward apologizes passes by quickly, in a complete haze of work and wine.

After Edward left that day, I spent a whole week in my flat dazed. After our divorce went through, I gave up hope of ever having a conversation like that. I realized that I would never have closure when it came to Edward, and I would just have to be okay with it. Now, having his words and his apologies, I have no clue what to do with any of it.

While it's been cathartic to have his apology, it's also bringing up feelings that I thought were long buried. I've gone through the stages of grief over my marriage all over again - denial, anger, bargaining, and now I'm firmly back in the depression stage. I spend my evenings editing photos and drinking wine alone in my hotel room. I only regret that I'm not somewhere where recreational weed is legal, so instead I'm forced to wear a constant hangover and just act like it makes me look mysterious and artsy when I know it really just makes me look messy. Luckily, the writer that I'm here with is too focused on their article to try to spend time together, or even notice that I'm a wreck. We trade notes, share photos and then go our own ways at night. I much prefer working with people like that, rather than those like Michael, although he was unexpectedly sweet after realizing how awkward the other day was for me.

Alice texted me when the article covering the band went live. The reaction to the photos was huge, which started to piss me off. I've spent my whole career taking photos of things that actually mattered, and while I've received actual recognition for some of them, to get as much positive feedback off of a picture of a fucking band as I have is irritating to say the least.

Now, I am a few days out from leaving Germany and we have wrapped up our piece a bit early - the group of men we were interviewing was eager to get their words out as quickly as possible and be done with it. It was all anonymous, and emotionally draining. Considering I was already feeling pretty tapped out emotionally, it was a trip that left me in complete fatigue. I was grateful to have a few days to relax before flying to my next onsite location, which is to attend some protests in Poland over the abortion ban.

It's as I'm posted up in my hotel room that I see a post from Black, saying that the band is performing tonight - in Berlin.

I don't even think about it. Before I can think too much about what I'm doing, I'm dressed in a vintage tee and some wide legged plaid pants, my hair is waving down past my waist and my makeup is done. I'm out the door with an old camera around my neck, heading to the train station.

The journey is mercifully quick, otherwise I would have too much time to consider my actions. Instead, I follow the crowd of hipsters to the performance hall. It's all so familiar - cigarette pants and cigarette fingers, the aura of illicit substances in the air, the shattering of a beer bottle, the laugh of a giddy groupie. A clique I was once the crowned princess of was now a strange and distant memory.

Security is lax - a smile and flash of my media visa gets me a press pass and the ability to wander the back halls of the darkened venue. I can hear the opening band playing, some local up-and-comer attempting broken English lyrics over power chords.

I try my best not to wander the venue lest I run into anyone I know and have to explain my presence. Instead, I grab a Jameson and ginger and hide in the shadows, watching the crowd in their giddiness, not quite understanding most of their conversations but appreciating the familiarity of the intonations.

It takes some time for the band to hit the stage, but the screams when they do are deafening. They open on a high, the band launching into the first song as he takes the stage.

This man on stage is a performer. This isn't Edward. This is their Masen.

He's sexy. He's suave. He's dark and light and soft and hard and hard. He's worn jeans and sticky floors and heavy breathing. He's Masen, a rock star, a performer.

The set is hard to sit through. The unfamiliar songs I tune out and watch the band. Some words carry through anyway.

The bitter. The angry.

You're not the same anymore

Don't wanna play that game anymore

You'd make a better window than a door

And

Losing you is easier than lying to myself that you love me

And

Oh, no

My feelings are more important than yours

Oh, drop dead, I don't care, I won't worry

But also the longing.

Do you know, I could

Break beneath the weight

Of the goodness, love, I

still carry for you

That I'd walk so far just to take

The injury of finally

Knowing you

And

We haven't spoke since you went away

Comfortable silence is so overrated

Why won't you ever be the first one to break?

Even my phone misses your call

And

One more wasted morning

When I could be holding you

To my side

Somebody stop this joyless joy ride

I'm feeling older than my 35 years

Oh, and honey, I'm worried 'bout you

You're too much to lose

You're all that I have

And honey, I'm worried 'bout you

Put yourself in my shoes

You're all that I have

…

So please don't die

Wherever you are tonight

Even the soft songs are sung with a hard edge that is so Edward, one of the things I loved about him, that we had in common - that crust that seemed to form around both of us, that only each other could break through. That shell that was now so hardened around both of us, it was a wonder we weren't weighed down by it, frozen in place by it.

But then again, I don't know Edward now. Maybe he has someone new that he softens for.

The thought made my stomach hurt.

I've taken some pictures as cover, but manage to stay out of sight and under the radar from the band, somehow. The last song is approaching quickly, and it's one I haven't heard yet, one filled with soul, an old feel to it. The sound makes me feel as if I was sitting in a dark smoky diner, jukebox playing. I am surprised to see Edward drop the guitar to sing this song, so open and vulnerable, minimal instruments and just his voice.

I stand entranced as Edward bends over at the waist, foot resting up on a speaker as he croons to the front of the audience, closer to me than might be comfortable. I try to shift further into the shadows, but the movement seems to catch his attention. His eyes flash my way and widen, and it seems like he missed his next line. Jasper pounds the piano keys and Edward takes his cue, never looking away from me.

Oh, the dawn won't stop weighing a tonne

I've done some things that I shouldn't have done

But I haven't stopped loving you once

He ends the song vocalizing the last note, and the lights darken, and I am released from his grasp. The crowd roars behind me as I make a break for it, running towards the safety of my hotel room. The hallway is dim as I rush through, breaking past a couple of roadies.

"Bella!" I hear yelling behind me. The sound of his voice saying my name makes my chest ache. I take a few more steps, but when he calls my name again, I stop and turn.

He's breathless and frantic as he closes the distance between us, his hair which had just been perfectly coiffed now falling over his forehead.

"Bella," he breathes as he stops in front of me. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry," I say immediately, looking anywhere but his eyes. "I had tonight off, and I happened to see the band was playing tonight. I don't know why I came." My words are rushed, and I mess with my hair, pulling it forward to create more of a shield around me. In doing so, I end up knocking some of my fringe in my eyes and seemingly without even thinking, Edward reaches out and brushes it back. The light touch ignites a fire on my brow, and I touch the spot with my own warm fingers. Edward seems to realize what he just did and mutters a semblance of an apology, but doesn't step back.

"You never have to apologize for coming to our shows," he tells me. "I want you here."

I meet his gaze, trying to read into what he's saying. His eyes are bright even in the dim lighting, and a little wild. I can hear the crowd cheering for an encore, and someone calls out, "Masen!"

Edward looks over his shoulder to find James yelling for him, looking at us with impatience. "Come on, man, they're waiting."

Edward takes one more look at me and starts to back up, never breaking eye contact. Neither of us say anything, and within moments, both he and James are gone and I'm left standing alone in the hallway, gasping for breath and wondering what the hell just happened.

A/N: Damn, it feels good to be writing again. Please be kind, it's been a while.

I don't own any of the songs used. Song lyrics were taken from the following:

Not The Same Anymore by The Strokes

Easier Than Lying by Halsey

Razorblade by The Strokes

Unknown/Nth by Hozier

From The Dining Table by Harry Styles

Please Don't Die by Father John Misty

The Ultracheese by Arctic Monkeys